I Would Walk 500 Miles
by unicyclehippo
Summary: Beca's father is worried about her. It's been a month and, let's face it, she has no friends. And she won't leave her room. So he feels it is within his rights to help her. He asks his favourite student to befriend his daughter, offering extra credit in return. But what happens when Beca finally finds out?
1. Chapter 1

**I Would Walk 500 Miles: Chapter One**

**Pitch Perfect isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

The word 'choice' wasn't one that Beca would apply to this situation. Not when it involved the forced packing of her instruments. Not when it involved the rescinding of what had previously been unconditional monetary support. Not when the words 'you have no choice in the matter' came into play.

The conversation had gone somewhere along these lines: "I'm not going to pay for this place anymore so if you want to be able to live somewhere, you will be coming to college. It's a free education, Beca!" And that was that. End of discussion. Her father always had been a little brusque. Well-intentioned but, well, you know what they say. Pathway to hell and all that.

So why was she here? Well, the first reason, of course, was that she had no where else to go. The second reason what that she hadn't wanted to stay there. She would have done anything to get out of that hell hole and sure, she'd wanted to go straight to LA and wow the crowds but this place wasn't horrible. Yet. And the third reason was that she hadn't wanted to fight him on this. She was tired of fighting.

Beca wasn't exactly what you would call a confrontational person. Sarcastic? Yes. Cynical? Hell yes. Slightly socially awkward? Absolutely. Used to having people ignore her and make decisions for her and completely overlook the fact that she is a person as well because they are completely absorbed in their own problems? Yes. Confrontational? No.

So, when her father makes this decision for her, she pushes down any argument, packs up her things, and pays for the extraordinarily expensive taxi ride with her fathers money. Non-confrontational she may be but that doesn't mean that she wasn't, on occasion, a little bit mean.

She has to fight the urge to slap the taxi driver's hand away from her equipment – which were, one hundred percent, the only things that mattered to her – and instead gives him an awkward smile and grabs them herself. Sure, they may be heavy, but she's rather not have a stranger carry something so important to her. So long as no one surprised her or shoved her, she should be fine.

Speaking of surprises, a too-perky blonde appears mystically in front of her, blabbering about rooms and rap whistles. Beca is slightly distracted by the boy playing air guitar to her from his car to actively listen to the girl's speech but she kind of gets it. Her dorm room is in that building and she isn't supposed to blow it unless it's actually happening. Got it. But it's part of Beca's nature to rile people up so she slips the whistle between her lips and smirks at the girl whose creepily affectionate smile persists with an impressive show of stubbornness.

Beca's day doesn't improve when she enters her room and her Korean roommate refuses to speak to her. Added to that the glare of her lifetime and Beca rolls her eyes. She just wanted to know where the girl was with English. As she carefully unpacks her equipment, she smiles a little sadly to herself. Figures that she would get the roommate who would be perfectly happy to kill her.

**Hello to my readers! This is, quite clearly, a very short introduction chapter to my newest story. I just wanted to get a feel for the story and see what the style might be. Have a wonderful day. The next chapter will be up soon, hopefully, seeing as I've planned the whole thing out. Happy reading, readers :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I Would Walk 500 Miles: Chapter Two**

**Pitch Perfect isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. Have fun!**

Okay, it's official. I _really_ don't like college. I don't like the chauvinistic pigs that think they are Gods gifts to humankind and rate the girls walking past on their assets. I don't like the noise and the cluttered halls. I don't like that my roommate is potentially insane, possibly homicidal, and definitely ignoring me. I mean, I can _live_ with it but it would have been nice to have a friend here.

I don't like that my father has promised 'surprise visits' as if they will somehow make up for all those years he didn't care.

But most importantly? I don't like that I have none of my music magic here. Let's face it – I'm amazing. I make mixes as easily as other people breathe. But there's no inspiration here! I've always had a melody in my head – multiple, in fact – that pump and mix and _rock_. I've always captured them and loved music. But now? For once in my life I hear nothing. And that worries me.

I start unpacking, sneaking peeks at my roommate. She's hanging a something on the wall – a painting? A wall sculpture? Whatever it is, it matches the wall colour perfectly and blends in so I can no longer see it.

"I like your art," I offer. It's not a lie. I much prefer this than some atrocity that will give me nightmares while I try and fail to sleep. Kimmy Jin stares blankly at me and I turn away. Got it. No talking to the roommate.

Feeling just a little disappointed, I ignore the feeling with ease, by slipping on my headphones and listening to my latest mix. Usually I'll get an idea or two from my music but today? Nothing. I swallow a frustrated yell and turn the music up.

I set up my equipment first and then, realising that maybe Kimmy Jin might not appreciate my music twenty-four seven, I turn back to Kimmy Jin and smile awkwardly until she, once again, stares flatly at me.

"Hey, I just wanted you to know I work on a lot of music. I'll keep my head phones in so you won't be bothered by it but if you could not touch my stuff, I'd really appreciate it." She gives me no sign that she understands, so I frown. "This is really important to me, Kimmy Jin. Look, you don't touch my stuff, I don't touch yours." I nod to her weird golden bonsai and her hands move around it a little, protectively. "Got it?" I urge. She nods, rolls her eyes, and turns her back fully on me.

Success. My first dealing with a roommate issue. _Somehow,_ I manage to stop from fist pumping. Damn, I'm so awesome. (Sarcasm)

With my equipment all hooked up and a daunting few months of college ahead of me if my father gets his way, I start to unpack. Might as well do something if I can't be mixing.

I'm in the middle of unpacking, leaning over my computer to change the song actually, because Kimmy Jin didn't say anything when I let it play softly, when there is a sharp rap at the door.

A gruff voice calls out. "Hey, campus police – hide your wine coolers!" I pull my headphones off and offer my father a pity smile. "Ha, that was just your old man making a funny," he says awkwardly.

I look back at my computer and sigh. "Chris Rock, everybody," I mutter. I turn the music down – someone, at some time, has told me it's 'rude' or something to listen to music when someone is talking. Go figure. I cancel my mixing tape, which may or may not have had absolutely nothing on it anyway, and start unpacking my other things. Hopefully, if I look busy enough, my dad will leave and come back at another time. Like when I'm not here. Or never. Never is fine also.

He doesn't leave. He just nods at me like he acknowledges that I don't want him here but he's going to stay anyway because he's a great father and annoying their daughters is what great fathers do, and then he smiles. Instead of leaping into whatever he wanted to say – god forbid he actually do something succinctly instead of drawing it out in an unnecessarily painful manner (and no, I am not relating his standing in my room to his divorcing my mother)- he stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and nods a greeting to Kimmy Jin.

"Hey, um, you must be Beca's roommate. I'm Doctor Mitchell, Beca's dad." Kimmy Jin looks at him like he's interesting and… "I teach Comparative Literature here." He smiles proudly but Kimmy Jin gives him the same black stare she's been giving me this whole time. He's obviously not the right kind of doctor. I can't help but smile a little. Maybe, just maybe, if Kimmy Jin keeps that up, we'll get along just fine.

"So!" He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "When did you get here?" he asks me. Then he frowns. "_How_ did you get here?"

I ignore his silent accusation of _I would have picked you up_ and busy myself with my equipment again. It's sort of reassuring. Besides, I didn't want him to pick me up. I don't want to be here at all and I certainly don't want to be here with _him_. "Took a cab," I say. I'm not a girl of many words. He hums in understanding and so, taking that as a sign that he _understands_ that I used his money, I don't tell him I used his credit card. "Didn't want to inconvenience you and Shelly. How is the stepmonster?" I'm very good at controlling myself. I don't think he could possibly have caught the disdain or ill-humour in my tone.

My father frowns but nods. "Shelly is fine, thank you for asking. She's in Vegas actually, at a conference."

I turn around to raise a brow at him, holding out a hand to make him stop. "Oh, no, Dad. I don't actually care. I just wanted to _say_ stepmonster." I smirk a little, again, when I say it and he sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. We both look to the side. Kimmy Jin is watching our dysfunctional family bonding time with apparent disdain. Dad changes the subject.

"So, ah, have you guys been out on the quad yet?" He pulls aside the white (gosh, I'm shocked at Kimmy Jin's colour selection) curtains with a finger to look out at the sprawling expanse of buildings and grass. I take a quick look out there to confirm what I already knew was there. Trees. Grass. Fresh air. I don't want to go outside. "In the spring time, all the students study on the grass and-"

"I don't want to study on the grass, dad," I say. I wonder if he'll listen this time? "I want to move to LA and get a job at a record label and start paying my dues." _So I can pay you. So I can get away and never have to come back here again_, are the words I don't say. He hears them loud and clear, though, and his frown returns with a vengeance, furrowing his forehead.

I sigh and let my shoulders slump, pulling my emotional investment in this conversation back a little – it's been too long since I've spent any time with him for me to know how he will react. I don't know him; I don't know this man. I don't want to do something wrong that will ruin this. He's the only family I have left, whether I like it or not. Whether I like him or not.

"Ah, here we go again," he says, not quite able to mask the irritation in his tone. I turn away and pretend to be interested by something in my bad. He hasn't changed his mind then. I quash the annoyance that bubbles in my chest and exhale lightly. "You know, Beca," he continues, "DJ-ing is not a profession. It's a hobby…"

I don't hear whatever he says next, though I can see his mouth moving, because I've turned and I'm trying defend my music, my _life_, to him, but it's all I can do to stutter. "That's not, I can't, uh," I clench my hands and squeeze my eyes shut tightly. I shouldn't have to explain myself to him, to this man who just ups and leaves whenever he suits him. _Parenting isn't a hobby, dad_, I want to say. I breathe in and try again. "I _want_ to produce music. I want to _make_ music, Dad." Why is that so hard for him to understand? That in every moment of every day I live and feel music?

"But you are going to get a college education first," he states in a tone that brooks no disagreement. "For _free_, I might add. End of story." I stare at him and he stares back. I guess we are equalled annoyed and frustrated with one another. I can feel my annoyance; I can see the tightness of his shoulders and eyes. It doesn't do me any good, though. His word is final.

"I'm going to the activities fair," Kimmy Jin announces. She had, apparently, picked up on the rapidly increasing levels of annoyance between us and decided to get out before it descended into screaming. I jump onto the opportunity like the lifeline it is.

"Me too!" I blurt out, eyes wide. "I'm going to the activities fair with my super good friend, Kimmy Jin." And with that, I escape from what was rapidly becoming a too-small room for me and follow the white-clad girl down the stairs and out onto the quad.

I only hope that he will be gone when I come back. And, in the meantime, if I find something – some group or club or whatever – that would make being in college suck a little bit less, then bonus. Life complete. Yay.

**Sorry that it is taking me so long to update – I'm finding it a bit difficult to write the characters as I want them to come out. I hope you like it and I love reviews! Happy reading, readers :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I Would Walk 500 Miles: Chapter Three**

**Pitch Perfect isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

I've only been at the activities fair for a few minutes, mindlessly wandering around and trying not to bump into anyone, when I rediscover Kimmy Jin. She'd disappeared into the crowd before I left our dorm building but, lookie here, there she was. Chatting and smiling – _smiling_, something I thought she was physically incapable of – with a bunch of students. Korean students. Yay.

I roll my eyes. So now she smiles and talks to people. That's cool. I get it. I ignore the pang of hurt because, really, in what universe would my dorm mate instantly be best friends with me? I mentally note that I should probably leave her alone from now on. Clearly, that's what she wants.

I turn away, suddenly eager to be by myself, when a horde of chanting boys start striding towards me. I flinch back, allowing myself to be herded into a busier area of the activities fair. Being vertically challenged, it takes me a good few minutes to work my way out of the crowd and, trying to act less flustered than I am, I make my way over to a less occupied area. I'm steadily becoming more nervous so I pull my headphones up from my neck and plug them in. I give anyone that looks at me a small 'ignore me, I'm weird' smile. It works like a charm. Should do. I've only had, oh, ten years or so to perfect it. They look right past me. After a few minutes, I spot a stall that is proudly proclaiming 'Barden DJs'. I can't hide my interest and practically jog over to it.

I take a brochure from the stand but something doesn't seem quite right. I look over to the handmade poster as a girl, who suddenly swaggered up next to me, points at the poster.

"Aw yeah, DJs. Deaf Jews." She grins at me and I close my eyes, putting the brochure back from where I'd taken it. I thought the people on the front had looked a little too stubbornly optimistic to fit the DJ-ing stereotype. You know the one: dark, brooding, misunderstood. Sometimes it can be fun to perpetuate stereotypes. I sigh and turn away. It would have been too good to be true for me to have found the perfect stall in, I look at my watch, seven minutes.

"Shalom!" a boy calls out in a thick accent. I sigh again but nod and smile at him, not wanting to be rude. I have to look away, trying not to smile, when the girl chats with the boy in a strangely tactless manner. I look her up and down, taking in her wide smile and effortless confidence, and I give her a small smile.

"Not a lot of Jewish people where you're from?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Ah, well, no." _What is that accent? Australian?_ "We did do Fiddler on the Roof though in high school. It was like me and some Aboriginals. It was really Jewish," she says with a nod. I can't tell whether she's joking or actually believes in what she's saying. It's disconcerting. I back away shyly, hoping the girl won't notice or be offended. She keeps talking to the deaf boys and…chatting them up?

I wander away and soon a pattern emerges. Every time I see a group coming towards me, I can't help but dodge away and move into a less populated area. I look at my watch again. Twelve minutes. My father could still be in my room. Actually, I almost expect it. I shove my hands in my pockets and meander down another arcade of stalls, examining each one to see if there is a Radio group. I was going to find it no matter how elusive it tried to be. I'm scanning the banners when it happens.

The moment our eyes meet, her smile spreads wide across her face. I feel my heart speed up and hear a rushing in my ears. All I can think is: "shit" because I know something has happened – not sure what it is quite yet – and I know it can't be reversed. I suck in a deep breath when spots start to blur my vision. She waves me over and I snort when I realise that I'm already walking over to her. _Okay Beca,_ I tell myself, _be cool_.

My plan, originally, was 'find the radio stall'. Plans have a tendency to be swept aside when you come face-to-face with the most beautiful person that has ever existed. My higher brain functions fail me for a second and before I know it, I've been sucked into a sales pitch. (Pun intended.)

"Hi! Any interest in joining our acapella group?" She bounces a little, excited, and I feel my eyes widen. No one who looks like _this _has ever spoken to _me_ like that – peppy, excited, friendly. Never happened. I automatically take the flyer she offers and step closer without a second thought. And then I actually _look_ at the flyer and listen to what the girl is saying and my lips twitch.

"Oh right," I say. "This is like a _thing_ now." I can't keep the slight amusement out of my tone because, really, isn't acapella for nerds? What is this girl – and, admittedly, a very attractive blonde as well – doing in an acapella group?

"Oh, totes!" She looks one hundred per cent serious and nods vigorously. "We sing covers of songs but we do it without _any_ instruments." I resist the urge to tell her that, yes, I know what acapella is – and it's _not_, I sternly remind myself, because I want this girl to keep looking at me and talking to me. It's because I'm trying to be _nice_ and make _friends_. She points to her lips and winks. "It's all from our mouths."

_Oh my god._ My eyes widen at the influx of dirty thoughts and I wince, raising an eyebrow. "Yikes," I murmur, trying to flush the thoughts away by convincing myself that I was embarrassed for her.

"There's four groups on campus," she continues. I take a moment to wonder if there is a way that I can just subtly slip away like I did earlier but this girl isn't looking away, not for an instant. I'm trapped. "The Bella's, that's us. We're the tits," she assures me. "The B Harmonics. They sing a _lot_ of Madonna." The blonde frowns over at them and I look away from the red head to check her out. She looks sort of incredibly uptight.

"Um…the High Notes," the red-head gestures behind her to a group laying on the grass. "They're not particularly motivated. And then there's…" Blondie's eyes close, squeeze tightly shut, and my redhead – I mean, _the_ redhead – hesitates. The two of them share forced smiles and turn back to me. I pretend that I don't notice the tension and the fact that they deliberately neglect mentioning the group.

"So, are you interested?" she asks. I wince.

"Sorry, it's just, it's pretty lame."

"Aca-scuse me?" _Proving my point exactly_, I think. "Synchronised lady dancing to a Mariah Carey chart topped is not lame."

"We sing all over the world," the red head interjects, probably noticing how uptight Blondie was getting, "and compete in national championships."

Without even thinking about it, I let the words "on purpose?" slip out. Oops. I'm pretty used to stirring up trouble at my old school so I think it's become a bit of a habit. Blondie gives me a death stare to rival Kimmy Jin's.

"We played at the Cob Energy Performing Arts Centre, you bitch." I grin at the swear word, which is so different to the image Blondie was trying to portray. Ginger comes to the rescue, laying a hand on her friend's arm.

"Oh, um. What Aubrey," oh so that's Blondie's name. Aubrey. "means to say is that we are a close knit and talented group of ladies whose dream is to return to the National Finals at the Lincoln Centre this year." I can see that she really means it. I also know that these girls don't want me. "Help us turn our dreams into a reality?" The smile she offers me is so hopeful that I legitimately feel bad turning her down. But it has to be done for three reasons.

One: no matter what they say, acapella is still lame. Two: I'm not right for that kind of group. Three: this red-headed girl is making my stomach feel a little queasy.

So I force a smile and shrug. "Sorry. I don't even sing. But it was really nice to meet you guys." Less so with Aubrey, but it's the polite thing to say and I don't want to set out and purposefully offend everyone I come across. I step away from the stall doing my best to stay nice, keep smiling. I like them. Sure, the Aubrey girl is a bitch but she has spunk. And a spark that tells me she won't let anyone quash her dreams. (_Oh god. 'Quash her dreams'? The few minutes I spent with them have already turned me into a philosophy-spouting loser_.) Plus, Aubrey called me a bitch despite having the appearance of a perfect, high-society girl. She has guts.

I pretend I don't notice the way the redheads face fell when I said I don't sing. I don't know how she did it but in that split second I was fully prepared to retract all I said and tell her I would sing for her. But my brain smacks my heart (?), tells it not to be stupid, and reminds me that I don't sing for people. I don't do friends.

I hunch my shoulders a little, enough to appear like someone who is to be left alone, and focus once more on finding that damn radio stall I heard some boy talking about.

It's only a few stalls down from the Bella's stall, which makes sense. I guess all the music stalls are all grouped together. I walk up and the guy, boots on the desk, headphones plugged in, just nods to a small pile of papers and closes his eyes. I grin – this is definitely my kind of group.

I sign up for the radio internship. There's only one other name on the list, so I'm hopeful that I'll get it.

I head off, ready to go back to my room now, but stop. Kimmy Jin is still at that Korean stall. I don't bother to pretend that I'm not hurt this time – she can spend so long with them and laugh and talk and won't even say hi to me? Why? Am I diseased? Is everything that is bad about me on open display? I slam my headphones up and into my ears and stuff my hands into my pockets, stomping back into my room.

Whatever.

My father is gone when I come back from the activities fair, thank god. I flop into my work chair and set up the programs but I don't know where to start. I have absolutely _zero_ inspiration. Fantastic.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to leave a review (please). Happy reading, readers :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I Would Walk 500 Miles: Chapter Four**

**Pitch Perfect isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

I must look like a freak. The guy, Luke I think he said his name was, exits the room and stares at me.

"You been there long?"

"No. No," I stutter, shaking my head. "I just got here," I expand when he looks at me suspiciously. "I wasn't," but he's already gone. My voice trails away. "Just standing here." Great. Great first impression, Beca.

I move to follow him into the room but he turns and "freshman aren't allowed in the booth" is the first rule I learn here. I move out and, again, stutter when I speak. I haven't stuttered in years. I don't know why it's happening now but I am not happy about it.

"I'm Luke, station manager," he says. "You must be Becky the intern."

"Um, it's ah-"

"Hey man!" A boy strides up and interrupts up, full of confidence and high on his own 'coolness.' "What's up? I'm Jesse."

"I'm Luke and you're late." Luke brushes past the guy, which brings me and the boy face to face. A knowing expression crosses his face and I turn away quickly to follow Luke.

"Hey! I know you." Too late. He's already recognised me. I frown.

"No you don't," I deny.

"Yeah I do."

"He doesn't," I say to Luke. I don't want to be grouped with his annoying boy who was late to the internship when Luke already doesn't seem to like me.

"I totally know her."

Luke doesn't seem impressed and I press my lips together to stop speaking. "Okay cool. Well you guys can figure it out while you're stacking CDs. When you're done, there's more." He looks between us. "Now you guys will be spending a lot of down time together so please, just," he pats the table, "no sex on the desk."

Rule number two: no sex on the desk. Got it. And with that, he disappears back into the booth and I am left alone with the increasingly annoying boy.

"I do know you," he insists. "I sang to you. I remember because you were in a taxi." I look away and shrug by bag off my shoulders. "Wait! Is your dad a taxi driver?"

That…is the least logical assumption he could have come up with. I stare at him and shake my head. "No."

"Oh." He looks disappointed – that I didn't tell him what my father did? – but we dutifully begin to stack CDs. He doesn't speak for a little while and I'm hopeful that this won't be as bad as it has the potential to be. Then, a little optimistic granule inside of me urges me to speak.

I grab a CD. "This sucks," I admit. "I wanted to play music."

"Not me," I hear him reply. "I'm here for one reason only. I really love stacking CDs." I look up from my stack and send him my most unimpressed look – he just smiles. "So what's your deal?" he asks as he moves around the room, popping the disks into their rightful places. "You're one of those girls who's all dark and mysterious and she takes off her glasses and that amazingly scary ear spike and you realise that, you know, she was beautiful the whole time?"

I consider not answering but that, that is probably the most sexist remark that has ever been directed at me and I look up and stare at him evenly. "So, I'm not beautiful right now?"

His eyes widen and I know that I've caught him out. It causes a little thrill to go through me that this jerk is surprised. "No! I mean, no, that's not what I'm saying. I mean, you're beautiful but-"

"But I don't look beautiful like people expect me to because I don't conform to the ideals of a woman in mainstream society. Is _that_ what you mean?"

He blinks and I can see him working through what I just said. "Yes?" he says hesitantly.

"Right. Thanks a lot." I sort through a few more CDs.

He winces. "Look, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I'm just really into movies and that's how I talk. I reference everything. You know those stupid movies with the girl who everyone thinks is ugly because they can't look beyond their prejudices…" I wait until he gets to his point. "If we were at the beach," he says quietly, "I probably would have compared you to the shark from Jaws."

"Wow," I drawl. "You are doing a fantastic job at removing that foot from your mouth."

"Really?" I shake my head.

"No."

"Okay, okay." He comes back around to my side of the table and stands next to me until I look at him. "Can we start over? Please?" I raise my brow and he holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Jesse Swanson. I like movies and I love music and I'm a bit of an idiot." He smiles at his self-deprecation. "It's nice to meet you."

Reluctantly, but knowing it was unlikely that I would really meet anyone outside of this job, I take his hand and shake. Because I actually do want a friend and it doesn't seem like my roommate will be one. And it will be better to be friends with this guy than enemies, seeing as we'll be together a lot. "Beca Mitchell."

He waits and then sighs. "You aren't going to say anything else, are you?" I shake my head no. "I don't get to know anything else about you?" I smirk but shake my head again. "Fine. I get to intern with Beca Mitchell. Cool." He turns to the box of CDs and then back again, impatiently. "Know this, Beca Mitchell." He waggles his finger warningly. "I _will_ befriend you and we _will _make an awesome team. I'll stack CDs faster than anyone ever has before and you will wield that ear spike of yours mercilessly."

Despite the complete lameness and sheer nerdity of all of that, as well as my brain yelling at me not to, I snort with laughter. He beams.

"Okay," I tell him. "That was not a laugh. That was a sneeze."

He nods graciously. "Sure. Okay. I believe you Beca Mitchell."

And that was how that went.

That was how it went for the two weeks we were mindlessly stacking CDs for. He would chatter aimlessly about everything and I remained stoically unimpressed. He made me laugh a few times, against my better judgement, and each time I denied it claiming a sneeze.

"You aren't very good at this, did you know?"

I don't bother looking up. "At what?"

"Being friends. Friends share things. Friends talk. They tell each other about themselves. They hang out _outside_ of work." I do look up at that. I frown at him.

"You want to hang out?"

"Yes! I want to do something that isn't stacking CDs. Don't get me wrong – stacking CDs is a thrill like no other. But I like doing other things as well."

"Oh." I shrug. "Okay."

"Really?" He jumps up from the desk and comes around in front of me. "Really truly?" When I nod, he collects me in a big hug and swings me around. "Finally!" I shove him away from me, grinning stupidly because his stupidity is kind of infectious, and lean against the desk again. "I can't believe it took this long to get you to agree to this."

"Sorry," I shrug. "I guess I'm not very good at this." At his confused look I shrug again. "I didn't have many friends."

"Oh." He nods understandingly. "You were one of those cool music kids who had like two exclusive friends, right?"

"No." I pause, wondering if I know him well enough to tell him. I turn around and sort through the CDs again. There's no reason _not_ to tell him. He seems to like me well enough and even he wasn't, it's not really something that can be used against me. "I didn't have any friends." From the corner of my eye I see him swallow heavily and scratch his hair.

"Oh. Wow." I wince. I miscalculated. Obviously some part of me cares what he thinks about me. "Well, that's a lot of pressure."

"What?" That wasn't what I expected to hear.

He comes to stand next to me. "Now we _really_ have to do something together."

"What?" I repeat stupidly.

"Because I need to teach you. Show you what being a friend is all about." There is a thoughtful look on his face that scares me a little – Jesse isn't really one for thinking.

"We should probably get back to work."

"Oh yeah. Okay – tomorrow we will do something together. And I am going to be the _best_ first best friend ever!" He squeezes me tightly to his chest and I elbow him sharply. "I'm really glad you trusted me to tell me that," he says. I roll my eyes. Jesse can be funny and annoying but he also has the tendency to be incredibly sappy. "It's like all those crime shows with the cop partners who are best friends and have each others back!"

"I thought you were a movie buff, not TV."

"I'm a man of many layers," Jesse admits seriously.

"And also," I say, arms crossed, "Who said that you were my best friend? I only said that you were my first friend."

"Ouch," he said, touching his hand dramatically to his chest and doing his best to look wounded. "Okay, fine. I'll have to earn that title. But can I just say, Miss Mitchell, that in selecting me as a candidate, you have shown excellent taste." He bows low and I laugh, swatting at him.

"We'll see, Swanson. Now come on," I remind him, seeing Luke watching us from the booth. "Back to work."

At the end of the third week, I was actually really happy. For the first time since I left home to come here, and since even before then, I was enjoying myself. I was having fun. My music was coming back to me slowly, and I had a few ideas. After a day of hanging out with Jesse, I would go back to my room and mix.

After one such day, and after collapsing into my bed completely exhausted, I was shaken awake rudely.

"Beca?" A finger jabbed me in the hip. "Beca, wake up." It was my father. He gestured around my room. "Funny, this doesn't look like your Intro to Philosophy class."

I sit up slowly, fighting a groan. "I'm posing an important philosophical question." I smirk. "If I don't actually go to that class, will it still suck?" Kimmy Jin, typing away on her computer, turns her head slightly at the words. I guess she isn't used to people talking back to their parents or something. I don't care. God knows she already disapproves of me.

"Honey, college is great. You get to create memories here. I see it every day. You just have to give it a chance. You've been here, what? A month now? Do you have any friends?"

"Kimmy Jin is my friend," I say, praying that for once she'll just let the comment go.

"No," she says. I nod. Of course not.

"You gotta get out there, Bec. You gotta try something."

"I got a job at the radio station," I tell him.

"Oh great, that place. It's dark and dirty and like, what, three weirdos who work there?" I can't fight the anger that washes over me but I can direct it into a useful tool. Anything to annoy my father.

"Well, four now," I say, pointing to myself.

"You've got to try something _new_, Bec," he repeated himself. "Join one club on campus and if, at the end of the year, you still don't want to be here, you still wanna go off to LA and be P-Diddy," I close my eyes and shake my head a little at that. He really has no idea what it is that I want to do. "Well then, you can quit college. And I, I will help you move to LA."

I stop. Actually, I think the world stops. "Seriuosly?" The word jumps out of my mouth.

"Yes, seriously." He nods. "But I really need to see it, Beca. This is college. Join in." The second he leaves, I text Jesse.

**To Jesse: Need to meet you. Big news. Coffee stand?**

His reply comes back seconds later and soon we are together at the stand, hands curled around steaming Styrofoam cups.

"So, you might be leaving?" is his first question. I roll my eyes.

"Probably not." I shrug. "And even if I do, it's a year away."

He nods. "And even if you do," he tells me, "that is what Skype is for. We'll always be the best of friends," he says confidently. I laugh and shake my head.

"Whatever, Jesse. But what do you think? Do you think I should try?"

"Sure. What can it hurt, right? Shake up your routine a little. Get some sun, hang out in the courtyard. Hell, it can't hurt and maybe your lack of musical inspiration will be fixed." I roll my eyes.

"Sure. Because I'm just going to go there and hear someone singing and everything will be fixed." He shrugs.

"Maybe. You never know." He turns to leave and I shout after him.

"Don't forget to meet me tomorrow morning, Swanson!"

**I promise, the next chapter promises to be really good. Also, sorry for the delay in update. I'm doing assignments. **


	5. Chapter 5

**I Would Walk 500 Miles: Chapter Five**

**I don't own Pitch Perfect. **

**Please enjoy. **

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" Jesse groaned. I turned around and jogged backwards.

"Because you love me." I batted my eyelids and smirked when he stopped, gasping, holding a hand to his side. "This is what I want to do. And you _said_ you wanted to do something together, didn't you Swanson?"

"This isn't," puff, "exactly what I, "puff, "had in mind." I jogged back to him and bounced on my toes. When he didn't seem to be recovering quickly, I grabbed his shoulders and pushed them back. He groaned.

"Oh don't be such a baby. You need to have your shoulders back because you're restricting the airflow into your chest." He, reluctantly, obeys me and within a minute he was good as new.

"Oh. Thanks."

I roll my eyes. "Ready?" He eyes the pathway and looks back the way we came. "It's further to run back than it is to run the rest of the way, Jesse." He pouts. "Trust me." I start off and, after a moment, hear the pounding of Jesse's feet next to me.

"Why jogging?" he gasped. "Why couldn't you pick something fun – like paintball or to watch a movie together?" I ignore him, putting my i-pod headphones back into place, and I faintly hear him grumbling until he succumbs to the feeling of just running and plods along beside me.

Finally, we reach my dorm.

"That was _not_ quicker than running back."

I grin at him. "I know. I lied. But you can't tell me that you don't feel good now, right?" He grimaces at himself – sweaty and tired – but shrugs.

"I guess." He, like a gentleman, walks me up to my dorm. "So, what are you going to do today?" He leans against the wall outside my dorm. "Wait!" He says, throwing out a hand towards me. "Don't tell me – is it…_not_ going to class?" He grins when I throw him a filthy look.

"Oh ha ha. As a matter of fact, I'm planning on going to whatever I have on this afternoon." I pause. "But I think I will spend this morning on the quad," I admit.

"Taking your dads advice?" He did a double take and I actually punch him this time, a glare not good enough.

"I'm taking your advice. You said it can't hurt; I'm going to the quad." He grins at me.

"I'm touched, Beca. Truly touched. Taking my advice?" I roll my eyes and make to close the door in his face. He puts a hand on the wood. "Meet tonight for dinner and then work?" I nod.

"Don't we always?"

Successfully shutting him out of my room, I change and head on down to the quad. It is kind of nice out there: sunshine, grass, people. I have a quick look at the assignments I'm supposed to be doing for the classes my dad signed me up for and snort. I'm not doing these.

I dig around in my bag for my headphones and it is then that I hear it. A voice. Singing. I tilt my head to the side and listen. After a few seconds I recognise the song as Titanium, that David Guetta song, and before I know it I have packed up my things and I'm following the voice.

It's coming from this girl – no. From _the girl_. The one I met at the Activities Fair. Auburn locks, beautiful blue eyes, perfect skin? Ring any bells? That girl. She's just sitting and reading. I don't think she even realises that she's singing. But I realise. And it's beautiful.

I sit down beneath a tree. A tree that, what a surprise, gives me a perfect view of the girl. I can still hear her as well. She moves onto other songs but it is Titanium that plays on repeat – again and again I hear it in my head. I pull out my laptop and open the mixing software. Downloading Guetta's 'Titanium', I input it into the software as the first track and then, in a curious fit of my mind, overlay parts of 'I'm Gonna Be'. When I play it…well. It's not perfect but the music fits together so neatly that I pretty much have a heart attack of joy.

I'm there for a good hour, watching and listening to the girl, when she meets my eyes. I feel myself blush a slight red – thank god that I don't blush as heavily as my mum did – and she smiles. Naturally, I pack up my things and leave.

But the music. The music is racing around and around my head, just like it used to, and I flee to my room. I am so entranced in the music that I barely notice Kimmy Jin come in – and then leave immediately, rolling her eyes and saying something in Korean to her friend – and I'm only tugged out of the whirlpool of music (four utterly _complete_ songs later) by Jesse.

"Beca! What the hell?" He swings my chair around, away from the computer screen, and I blink hastily. The light makes my eyes tear up and I groan. He tugs my headphones off.

"Did you go to class today?"

"I…" I think back. "No."

"What the hell? I thought you were going to try."

"I _was_," I insist. "But then I went to the quad and there was this girl and she was singing and I was listening," I start saying, blabbering really, and Jesse watches me with a frown. "I was listening, Jesse, really listening. And then _bam_! I had all this music running around in my head. It was perfect. I knew exactly what I had to do and it was so easy."

Jesse looks from me to the computer and then back to me. "Beca?" he asks. "How long have you been doing this?"

I look around for a clock but, out of all the white things that Kimmy Jin has hung on our walls, a clock isn't one of them. "I don't know. What time is it?"

"Eight."

"At night?" I ask, somewhat shocked. It has gone by so fast."

"Yes."

"Oh. Um. Not long," I reply, hedging slightly. He narrows his eyes. "Maybe nine, ten hours."

"Beca!" As he reprimands me, my stomach gives an almighty grumble and he shakes his head. "Come on, you idiot. Let's go and get you fed."

Twenty minutes later, across campus in a little diner, Jesse props his elbows up on the table. He looks at me for a long minute and then grins broadly.

"So. A girl, huh?" He proceeds to waggle his eyebrows lasciviously. I backhand him on the shoulder and ignore him for the rest of dinner. Him and his comments.

The second time I see her, well, it's the very next day. Jesse joined me – complaining the whole time – on my morning jog. I think he doesn't mind as much as he pretends to. It would just hurt his reputation if people thought that he enjoyed doing something like jogging. Illogical, but there you have it.

He insists on accompanying me to the quad and I know that it is so he can see her for himself. I sit down under my tree and pull out my laptop. Plugging in my headphones, I play the song I mixed – her song – and start working. I keep an eye out for her but I don't actually expect to see her.

I do, though. See her. I look up casually from my computer and stretch. Jesse is watching a movie on his computer. I look to the side and freeze. There, in the centre of seven or eight girls, she is.

How can someone have so many friends? Is it because she is beautiful in the way that everyone expects people to be beautiful? I think it's because she smiles so perfectly at everyone.

But what am I thinking? That's ridiculous. I shake myself out of my thoughts – who cares if she is beautiful? Certainly not me. Jesse nudges me and I realise that he's paused his movie.

"Is that her?" he asks, nodding towards the girl. I nod. "_Nice_." I hit him.

My eyes stray back over to her and her circle of friends occasionally. I put my earphones back and fix the track I'm working on but I keep catching my eyes drifting, pulled back towards her.

Finally, she notices. I freeze, eyes locked with hers. She tilts her head very slowly to the side and doesn't look away. And then she beams. At me. I can feel my heart beating a little faster and the blush starts again. The girl raises her hand and her fingers twitch a little as if she is beckoning. I look behind me but there is no one there. She beckoning _me_.

"Go over," Jesse murmurs. I blush even more ferociously knowing that my friend has seen all of this. I shake my head vigorously _no_.

"Come on, Jesse. We've got to go." He grumbles, and repeats that I should go to her, but obediently packs up his things. We go back to my room and I crash onto my bed, groaning.

"What was _that_ all about, Beca?" He throws himself onto the bed next to me. "You totally freaked out." I shuffle over closer to the wall so he is more comfortable and sigh.

"You know my dad, right?" Jesse shrugs.

"Sure. Protective, well-meaning but doesn't understand anything about you kind of guy. What about him?"

"He thinks I have a social problem," I admit, staring up at the ceiling. "He could be right. I do have difficulty making friends."

Jesse just scoffs and that derisive sound warms my heart. Because he isn't scoffing at _me_ – he's scoffing at the idea that I'm socially inept. Because he likes me. Because he believes in me. It's a nice feeling.

"Don't be ridiculous. You won me over in seconds."

"That's different."

"How? You just stood there with your mystery and coolness and now we're best friends and you're awesome."

"Well, that's true," I say, nodding my head. I am awesome. I grin over at him and he grins right back.

"I knew I would get you to admit that we're best friends, Beca Mitchell." I roll my eyes but he shoves at me until his arm is around my shoulders. He shrugs. "Seriously though, Becs. You have nothing to worry about. You are funny and smart and crazy talented – she would have to be crazy not to want to be your friend." He pauses. "Or more." He waggles his eyebrows again and I punch him in the shoulder hard. Well, hard for me. He just laughs.

**Meanwhile, across campus:**

Dr Mitchell had never been more stressed in his life. His hand came up to pull at his hair and, when he realised what he was doing, he frowned and yanked his hand away. He would have a bald patch soon if he continued this way.

What did Dr Mitchell had to be stressed about? Well, his first wife had died just three months before. That was painful, no matter how long ago they had been divorced. Shelly was at a conference, in Chicago this time, and wouldn't be home for another week. He was eating takeout from the box and, in the mornings, leftover takeout. It was bad for his diet and his mood and he missed his wife. He had a pile of paperwork a mile high to work through. His students this semester, most of them, were utterly useless and the declining numbers that showed up to his lectures made him sad.

Most importantly, Beca. God, the girl worried him. She'd been to hardly any classes so far and it had already been a month. Three weeks? He wasn't sure. She had no friends. All she did was read and listen to music, do that 'mixing' thing she did – whatever it was – and work at that rubbish radio station. He swore his head was going to explode at any moment with the amount of pressure inside it right now.

"Dr Mitchell?" A kind voice called out. He opened his eyes and smiled tiredly at his star pupil. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, just fine. Thank you." He smiled again but even he knew that it was less than convincing.

"Are you sure? It's just that you're holding your pen quite tightly." She smiled gently and nodded her head to his hand, with its white-knuckled grip on his favourite pen.

"Oh!" He dropped the pen to the desk, which then rolled off the desk and to the floor. He groaned and, rubbing his hands over his face, pressed his thumbs into his eyebrows in an attempt to ease the pressure. "I'm sorry, Chloe. Did you need something?"

He opened his eyes again when he heard a light clink of metal on his desk. Chloe placed the pen delicately and took a step back. "I don't need anything, sir. You just looked tired and I was wondering if you needed any help."

"No," he sighed. "There's nothing you can do unless you want to befriend my rebellious, disastrous daughter."

She shrugs at his suggestion. "Sure. Why not? I love making new friends!" Dr Mitchell straightened quickly and he stared at her.

"Really?"

"Of course." She beamed at him.

"Well. I'll give you extra credit for it if you would." He held up a hand to stop her protests. "I know that you're busy, Chloe. It wouldn't be fair of me to ask more of you and not help you out in return. Please. Just two per cent extra credit. I will never be able to thank you enough if you can help my daughter."

"I really am just happy to help, Dr Mitchell. The credit isn't necessary."

"Not at all. I insist." He smiles. "You'll understand when you meet her. She's a little…difficult." Chloe shrugs again.

"Well, if you insist." She beams dazzlingly. "Twist my arm, sir," she joked. "What is her name?"

"Beca." He grabbed his phone from his jacket and opened his photo gallery, bringing up a picture of his daughter. He was hesitant to show it to her – Beca looked so dark and sullen in the photo – but he handed her the phone anyway. Chloe squinted at the photo and frowned slightly. Dr Mitchell held him breath, fearing that Chloe wouldn't help after all.

"This is your daughter?" He nodded. "I know her," she says slowly. "I saw her at the fair and she sits in the quad during the day." Dr Mitchell released a sigh of relief. She didn't say she wouldn't do it. But he had to make sure.

"So…you'll do it?"

"Of course It will be a pleasure." The man relaxed and grinned. Chloe looked at Beca once more before handing him the phone back and waving a cheery goodbye. He waved back and leant back in his chair. He felt good. His headache had lessened miraculously and he allowed himself a proper smile. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.

**So there you have it. Dr Mitchell and Chloe: plotting. My favourite pastime. Keep tuned!**


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